


will it wash out in the water

by butterflysky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Family Bonding, Gen, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Minor Injuries, but they're trying!!!, inaccurate depiction of a broken leg, other members of the batfamily mentioned, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysky/pseuds/butterflysky
Summary: And who’d picked him up from Leslie’s clinic?Bruce. Of course.“I’m fine,” he snaps, when Bruce reaches for his elbow.(Jason gets injured. Bruce looks after him. It might turn out better than expected.)
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 302





	will it wash out in the water

It’s stupid, really. So stupid it makes Jason grit his teeth every time he thinks of it. 

He hadn’t even been on _patrol._ No, he’d managed to break his leg slipping over on a particularly icy patch on a pathway in the park.  No amount of training helped him then, which was particularly frustrating.

Jason’s jaw starts to ache from how hard he’s grinding his teeth. He stretches it out with a wince.

And who’d picked him up from Leslie’s clinic?

Bruce. Of _course._

“I’m _fine,_ ” he snaps, when Bruce reaches for his elbow. 

Bruce scowls at him, but Leslie, behind Jason, must give him a _look,_ because he drops the glare fast. “You can walk?”

Jason waves one of his crutches at him as much as he can. “Duh.”

Bruce looks like he wants to say something, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. “The car is outside.”

Where else would it be, Jason thinks, but says nothing as Bruce walks ahead of him and leads the way out to the parking lot. 

The car he’s picked that day is unbearably flashy, and Jason bites back a sigh as he manoeuvres his way towards the back seat. 

“Let me—” Bruce starts, but Jason jerks himself away from his outstretched hand. 

“I _said—_ ”

“Fine,” Bruce says shortly, and marches to the driver’s seat without another word. 

Jason kind of regrets it when getting himself and the crutches into the back without jostling his leg is harder than it looked, but he manages without any help. Like he always does, he thinks bitterly, and doesn’t even roll his eyes at himself. 

The break isn’t even that bad, and only hurts with a kind of dull ache. It's nothing he can’t handle, but he can’t patrol on it unless he wants to fuck it up even more, which he isn’t keen to do.

“Where am I taking you?” Bruce asks tersely. Jason wants to call him out on the tone, but he figures he kind of asked for it. 

“Safe house over in the Narrows,” Jason says. It’s the only one he has at the moment, which is the only reason he’s even acknowledging it exists to Bruce.

Bruce pauses, silent as he drives. Then he says, “I thought the elevator was out in that building.”

Jason gapes at him. “How do you even _know_ that?”

“Isn’t it?”

Jason hesitates. Now that he thinks of it, it is. Which means…

“I’ll…call Roy,” he says. 

“He’s off-planet with the Titans.”

Fuck. “I’ll get hold of Artemis-”

“Is the manor so bad?”

_Yes,_ Jason thinks, but then he imagines Alfred’s disappointed face, and sighs. “ _Fine. One_ night. While I arrange something else.”

Jason can see Bruce’s mouth thin in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t comment. That’s good, Jason decides, and tries to settle himself more comfortably against the door. Now that he isn’t distracted, the leg is starting to hurt a bit more than he'd expected _._ He makes an involuntary noise when Bruce hits the brakes too hard. 

“Jay?” Bruce asks, worried.

Jason’s head snaps up. _Don’t,_ he wants to say, but bites his tongue for the sake of making it back to the manor without a screaming match. “It’s fine.” 

He manages to zone out, coasting along with his eyes on the skyline, until Bruce takes that familiar turn to the gravel driveway up to the manor and suddenly he feels sick. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Artemis is halfway round the world, but she’d come get him if he asked, so maybe he should…

Bruce cuts the engine and startles him from his thoughts.

It won’t be that bad, he tells himself. He’ll find Tim and Damian and avoid (hide from) Bruce until he can get Artemis to…to what? She doesn’t have a safe house in Gotham, so what the hell is his plan?

“I can take you somewhere else,” Bruce says, subdued, and Jason looks back at his reflection in the rearview. 

“I…” Something about the lines around Bruce’s eyes, the downward turn of his mouth, makes Jason feel even worse than he already did. He just looks so _exhausted._

Jason thinks of the time he’d caught Bruce staring at that _awful_ glass case in the cave, how Jason’d worked himself up into a rage and was ready to yell when Bruce'd turned to look at him, surprised like he hadn’t expected to see him. Bruce’d looked just as tired then, and Jason’s fury had ebbed away like it’d never been there at all. 

“I’ll stay,” he finds himself saying, and can’t bring himself to regret it when Bruce meets his eyes in the mirror, surprised but…not in a bad way. 

“Alright,” Bruce says. 

It starts to go wrong as soon as Jason steps inside. 

“Where’s Alfie?” he asks, shuffling himself to one side to let Bruce hang his coat up on the rack beside the door. 

“Visiting his family,” Bruce says shortly. 

“Oh,” Jason says, then feels the blood drain from his face. “Wait—”

“He’s in England,” Bruce clarifies, and Jason swears inwardly. It doesn’t take a genius to know he and Bruce end up arguing more when Alfred isn’t there to keep the peace. 

That’s fine, he still has Tim and Damian. Oh god, _does he?_

“And…uh, Tim?” he asks as casually as he can. 

“On a mission,” Bruce says, still clipped. 

_Fuck_. “Damian?” he asks desperately. 

“With the Teen Titans.”

Oh this is _bad._ He briefly thinks of fleeing to Dick’s apartment, but he’d be off-world too, wouldn’t he? 

Just him and Bruce, in that huge, echoing manor. 

“Wait,” Jason says. “If Alfred’s not here, who’s doing the cooking?”

Bruce gives him a look that’s not quite a glare. “I can cook, Jason.”

“ _Can_ you?” Jason asks, disbelieving. “I seem to remember you burning everything last time Alfred was away.”

It’s probably not the last time Alfred was away, Jason realises, considering it was probably seven or eight years ago. Shit. As if this couldn’t get any worse. 

But Bruce rolls with it. “I’ve improved since then.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jason says sceptically, and Bruce gives him an arch look. 

“You will.”

Jason shakes his head. “Whatever you say, old man. Where’s my room?”

Bruce gives him an odd look, and the slight smile that’d _almost_ formed on Jason’s face starts to curl up and die. 

_Don’t you_ dare _—_

“Wherever you want,” Bruce says, and Jason exhales hard. 

His _old_ room is a shrine, stuck in time, and every time he’s stepped in there since he came back he’s had a panic attack. 

“Do you even know how to put on a bedsheet?” Jason manages, and the tension in the air eases, just enough for Bruce to tut and turn away. 

But he doesn’t answer, and Jason smirks at his back. 

Jason makes his own way upstairs, using the elevator they’d fitted for Barbara, and picks a room at random. If it’s on the other side of the house to Bruce’s room, nobody has to know.

Christ, just him and Bruce. For an entire night. He can’t think of anything worse. 

(There was a time, a long time ago, that he would’ve loved this. Would’ve _loved_ camping out in the den and picking a movie, or cooking a meal with Bruce and flicking sauce at him when his back was turned, or stuffing his face with popcorn while Bruce laughed at him. 

When for the night he was just Jason Todd, adopted _son_ of Bruce Wayne, and the second-hand Robin suit wasn’t between them, his predecessor’s shadow wasn’t looming large. 

But that was a long time ago.)

He sits down gingerly on the edge of his bed and gives into the urge to bounce up and down a bit on the mattress. God, the bed in his safe house really is a piece of shit compared to this. 

Well, at least Bruce will be out on patrol soon-ish. He just has to make it through dinner, which will be unbearably awkward, but manageable. He hopes. 

When he gets back downstairs, he can smell something burning in the kitchen. Jason rolls his eyes and shoulders his way in, totally unsurprised when he sees Bruce squinting down at a bowl of blackened sludge. 

“What the hell even is that?” Jason asks. 

“Soup.” Bruce says despondently. 

Jason raises an eyebrow at him. 

“We can order in,” Bruce suggests, and Jason’s eyebrow goes higher. “You can’t cook. You’re supposed to be resting your leg.”

Jason glances down at it. “It’s not that bad.” He bites down on the _I've had worse._

“Hm.”

Jason doesn’t bother answering, instead moving over to the freezer. “Alfie must’ve left you something to eat, surely.” He tugs open the door and squints inside. “Something quick before you head out, yeah?”

There’s a long enough pause that Jason looks back at him. 

Bruce clears his throat. “I called Kate. She’s covering for me tonight.”

Jason looks away fast. “You—why?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, and Jason knows: he wants to _spend time together._

“I haven’t seen you in months, Jay—”

“That was on _purpose,_ ” Jason snaps, then screws his eyes shut, straightens up with the freezer door as support. “Look. One evening isn’t going to fix…” He doesn’t even know how to sum up all the history between them, “ _anything,_ ” he settles for. “We both know where we stand.”

Bruce meets his eyes head on, arms folded and shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a fight. 

Jason’s hand clenches on the freezer door. “You not going to say anything?”

Bruce drops his arms and takes a deep breath, like _he’s_ the one with a reason to be angry. Like _he’s_ the one who’s been tricked into this whole thing. 

All because Jason was stupid enough to _slip over._

No wonder Bruce jumped to replace him the second he could. Jason could hear it now: _Dick_ would never do something so stupid.

The thought makes Jason’s grip tighten until the plastic snaps loud enough they both jump. 

“Shit,” Jason says, staring dumbly at the broken door. Christ, he really does break everything he touches.

“It’s okay,” Bruce says, and Jason flinches, then snaps, “ _No_ it’s _not._ ”

Bruce stares at him. Jason stares back. 

“You’re right,” Bruce says, back to short and clipped. “It’s not. Leave the kitchen, please.”

Now Jason blinks at him. “What?”

“Leave the kitchen. Please.”

Jason’s face tightens into a scowl. “ _Fine._ I knew this was a stupid fucking idea.” He storms out as best as he can on the crutches, something hot burning in his eyes that he resolutely refuses to acknowledge. 

He throws himself onto a settee and glares at the ceiling, which holds his attention for all of five seconds before he decides he needs to _go._

Not out the manor — that’s clearly not an option, as much as he wants it to be. And going down to the cave sounds about as good of an idea as going back into the kitchen does, so he settles on the only place in this godforsaken house that could even come close to calming him down: the library.

It hasn’t changed much. He can’t even think of the last time he was here — sometime before his and Bruce’s last clash. He missed it, he admits to himself. Jumping between safe houses means his book collection is sadly depleted. 

Jason trails his fingertips along the spines of the books closest to him. Already he can feel himself settling down, the frustrated tension that’d been vibrating through him starting to go still. Maybe he can hide out here for the next however long. 

He digs his phone from his pocket and opens his chat with Artemis. She could pick him up, take him somewhere…

But then he thinks of that broken freezer, of all the meals Alfred probably prepped and tucked safely inside, and that Bruce had tried to cook anyway…

Jason shuts his eyes tight and says, “ _Fuck,_ ” as loud as he dares. Now he feels like a piece of shit, even more than usual. Over _Bruce._

He should go back downstairs, try fix it — and whether he means the door or the evening he isn’t sure. 

(He knows he can’t fix him and Bruce. He doesn’t think either of them will ever be able to.)

Jason’s leg is starting to hurt a bit — just a bit — so he manoeuvres to the table in the middle of the room and sits down. He stares blankly at the doorway and tries to think. 

It isn’t long before Bruce eases the door open. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” he says, after a moment of them just staring at each other. 

Jason looks away. “Uh huh.” He’s doing a great job of fixing things. He tightens his fists so much his fingernails hurt his palms. 

“Dinner’s ready.”

Jason looks back at him, surprised. “You…?” He’s not even sure what he wants to ask. 

“I managed,” Bruce says dryly. “Come on.”

Jason gets himself upright and heads over to Bruce, who reaches for him then drops his hand. 

Jason looks sideways at him. “It’s, uh, it’s okay.”

Bruce, hesitantly, settles a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. “I am glad you’re here, Jason.”

Jason looks away again. “Is the freezer broken?”

Bruce laughs quietly. “No. It’s fine.”

Jason nods once, then lets Bruce steer him back to the elevator. 

Dinner, it turns out, is pasta — a recipe Jason remembers from all those years ago, when Alfred left them to fend for themselves for an entire fortnight and Bruce’s only culinary success was this dish. 

Jason pokes at it with his fork. “You haven’t learned any other recipes?”

Bruce gives him a look. “I’m busy.”

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

But it _is_ good, in a hearty, stomach-warming way. Jason catches himself thinking it _tastes like home,_ which he immediately shoves back to whatever dark corner it came from. 

“Your verdict?” Bruce asks, amused, when Jason’s cleared his plate. 

“We’ll make a chef of you yet,” Jason decides, and Bruce actually _laughs_.

He takes the plates, ignoring Jason’s offer to clean up, and while Bruce actually washes up — shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, suds splashing all over the place — Jason tries to alleviate the awful feeling in his stomach. 

This could’ve been nice, he thinks, if things were different. If _everything_ that’d happened in the last few years had happened differently. They could’ve had a nice time. 

He thinks of the burgers they’d shared not all that long ago, leant up against the Batmobile. Maybe the bridge isn’t _totally_ burned. 

“Um,” Jason says, from the kitchen doorway. Bruce looks at him, looking lighter than he had earlier, and Jason feels four feet tall again. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce looks surprised. Jason can barely look at him. 

“For…the freezer. And…” And what else? Lots of things, but not _enough_. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce says, and Jason shifts uncomfortably on his crutches. It’s not, and they both know it. “Like I told you. I’m glad you’re here, Jaylad.”

Jason jumps at the old nickname, whipping his head round to look at Bruce, who looks just as wide eyed as him. 

The seconds pass by, then Jason says, “You seen _Emma_ yet?”

Bruce smiles, then. Genuinely. “No.”

Jason nods once. “I’ve got the login to Tim’s Netflix.”

It’s only a little bit awkward, at first. They sit carefully on opposite ends of the settee, Jason with a bowl of microwave popcorn settled on his lap. 

When Jason takes his painkillers, he catches Bruce watching him. He pulls a face at him without really thinking about it, and Bruce laughs quietly. 

“You used to do that,” he says. 

Jason tenses. “What?”

“Every time you saw me looking at you, you’d pull that face.”

There’s two ways Jason can react to that - get angry at Bruce bringing up the past, or… “Quit staring at me then.”

Bruce laughs that quiet laugh again, and things are less awkward after that. 

When the credits roll, Bruce is asleep. Jason throws popcorn at him until he wakes up - he builds up quite the collection of kernels on Bruce’s fancy shirt, which Bruce squints down at with sleepy distaste. 

“You really _are_ old if you’re falling asleep at nine,” Jason says. 

“I never said I wasn’t old,” Bruce grumbles, and the mirthful feeling in Jason’s chest gets a bolt of sadness stabbed right through it. Jesus, Bruce _is_ old. It’s a weird thing to realise, that his—that Bruce is ageing, that the gray at his temples is spreading. 

“Alright, Jaylad,” Bruce mutters, and Jason knows he’s still half asleep then, “it’s time for bed, I think.”

“I’m not twelve,” Jason says, but there’s no malice behind it. He doesn’t mean it the way he usually does. “You can’t set my bedtime.”

“I meant for _me._ ”

But Jason’s kind of tired too, he supposes. And what else is he going to do in this big house all on his own?

It’s quiet here, without the others. He pictures Bruce alone here all those years ago, right after Dick left. He would’ve had Alfred, Jason reminds himself, but still. This kind of house is supposed to be filled with people. 

Another little bit of tightly held resentment slides away. 

“I might as well go too,” Jason says, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “I’m, uh, in the east wing.”

Bruce looks across at him. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Jason mutters something like _whatever_ and gets to his feet. “You coming, old man?”

They make their way upstairs, and Bruce stops when Jason opens the door to his room for the night. 

(Maybe longer than the night. Maybe this isn’t so bad.) 

“G’night,” Jason says, and that seems to launch Bruce into fussing mode. 

“You have your painkillers? Water?” he asks, and Jason rolls his eyes, nods. 

But Bruce stands there the whole time Jason spends folding down the blankets — he’s already in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he can’t be bothered with wrestling his way out of them to change into borrowed pyjamas when his leg is aching — and when Jason sits on the bed, Bruce is still there. 

“Okay,” Bruce says finally. “Well, you—you know where everything is. Come get me if you need me.”

“Bruce, I’m twenty one years old,” Jason says, and Bruce stops in the doorway, something soft stealing over his face. 

“I know,” he says, just as soft, and Jason’s fingers twist up in the blanket. 

“Alright,” Jason manages, because he knows what Bruce is thinking, “get out and go to bed, old man. You get mushy when you’re tired.”

Bruce’s quiet laugh returns, and he goes to leave, but Jason feels a tight twist of worry in his chest, suddenly, and he can’t let him go like that.

“Bruce?” he calls, and Bruce stops, looks back at him. “I…I’m glad I’m here too.”

Bruce smiles at him, then shuts the door. 

Alright, Jason thinks, looking up at the ceiling. Things aren’t _fixed,_ but maybe they’re better than they were before. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from In the Blood by John Mayer because why not 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!! comments + kudos are v much appreciated <33


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